Fortune's Favor
by Selecasharp
Summary: Something is ripping the patrons of Nettleton Public Library apart without touching them. Despite being on crutches for a still-healing broken pelvis, Dean insists on taking the case. Featuring hurt!Dean and protective!Sam.
1. Prologue

Prologue

**Nettleton Public Library  
8:43 pm**

Jack's first instinct was to hide the chat window. Chat wasn't allowed on the library's public computers, which of course didn't usually stop him, but one of the librarians was standing right behind him messing around with the incessantly flickering floor lamp and he hardly wanted her to see whatever inane message his girlfriend had chosen to send on to him this time. Jack checked surreptitiously over his shoulder, then looked back at the screen, already mentally composing his irate reply. Damn Kate, she knew she wasn't supposed to message him first when he was at the library.

But the sender wasn't Kate.

_Unknown_, read the name next to the little green circle on the minimized chat window. Jack blinked at it, then shrugged and clicked on it. The librarian was over by the end of the shelves now, putting magazines on the rack or something, and wouldn't notice.

The message popped up.

_esduy ehwf re eribckl?_

Jack blinked, but the letters didn't move. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was he getting messaged by spambots again? As he watched, the message repeated itself.

_esduy ehwf re eribckl?_

He shook his head and hit the X on the chat window. He didn't have time for this shit.

The window popped back up._ esduy ehwf re eribckl?_

He clicked the X again.

For a minute, nothing else happened, and Jack had just returned to wading through the morass of email he had gotten since Monday when another chat window popped up. It was Unknown again. Jack muttered a curse under his breath and was just about to hit the X for the third time when he registered that the message was different this time.

_LTME LE_

_LTME LE_

_LTME LE_

_LTME LE_

As he watched, the message repeated itself, faster and faster until the letters were almost a blur on the screen. Then Jack hit the X on the corner of the whole browser, not just the chat window, and closed down the entire program.

The screen went black.

"Hey," Jack started to say, about to call for the librarian's help – where was the desktop? – when he thought he saw something reflected in the screen. He leaned forward, looking past his own face's reflection, searching the blackness. He could see himself, the curve of the shelf next to him, and – there! An indistinct form, standing right behind him, arms outstretched towards him.

He whirled around.

No one was there. Not even the librarian.

Jack turned back to the computer and nearly let out a scream. This time he could see a face, indistinct but unmistakable. It was _right there_, right next to his, and he could see the mouth moving, lips forming soundless words. He shoved himself back from the computer, panting, but the face didn't disappear. Instead it filled the screen, eyes deep pits of shadow, and then the screen flickered and text replaced the face.

_LTME LE_

_LTME LE_

_LTME LE_

_LTME LE_

_LTME LE_

_LTME LE_

_LTME LE_

Jack opened his mouth to scream.

And then the face was right before him, full color, mouth twisted into a horrible rictus of rage, clawlike hands reaching out for him. Jack threw himself away from it, felt the chair tip underneath him and send him crashing to the floor. The thud seemed to echo throughout the quiet room as Jack lay there, trying and failing to breathe. Then he saw it again, the face, leering at him as its hands reached out for his throat. He could hear screaming now, but it was faint and kept fading in and out, like a badly tuned radio, but he couldn't make out if there were words or not. He couldn't breathe, and he could taste blood now, filling his mouth and his throat and still the face was there, above him. The thing raised one bloody hand and plunged it back down.

Then even the screaming stopped.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**Route 23****  
11:26 am**

"When are you going to let me drive again?" Dean grumbled from the passenger seat.

Sam ignored him. He'd had a lot of practice with that over the last hour. Instead he reached out and turned the volume down so he could hear Dean properly and not incidentally also save his eardrums from bursting. He wished that he hadn't let Dean guilt him into letting him control the music. "Just tell me which exit we take for Nettleton."

"Dude, we're still in Michigan," Dean said. On the edge of his field of vision, Sam saw him lean back in his seat and couldn't help glancing over to make sure he wasn't wincing with pain or – more likely – trying not to wince with pain. Dean caught him looking and gave him the finger. "Stop hovering, bitch."

"I'm not hovering—"

"Looking at me like I'm going to break every time I move counts as hovering."

Sam didn't point out to Dean that, all too recently, breaking every time he moved had indeed been a concern. Instead he frowned at the windshield and said, "You know why I'm not letting you drive."

"Five weeks, Sammy," Dean countered, and Sam was getting sick of hearing those three words together. "Five weeks of being stuck in hospitals and that damn nursing home and most of it not even being able to _walk_. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of there and drive my baby, and you're playing keep away with the goddamn keys."

"You're not allowed to operate heavy machinery," Sam said through gritted teeth. Dean _knew_ this. Dean had sat through the discharge lectures same as him. No walking without crutches, no sex – which still pissed Dean off – and no operating heavy machinery. Just what did he think the Impala _was_?

Then again, Dean often acted like she – and the fact that he used 'she' and not 'it' was telling – was more than a car, so perhaps he didn't think the restriction applied.

"Says who?"

"Says the bottle of painkillers in your pocket." Not to mention the only nurse brave enough to tell Sam not to let Dean drive before they'd discharged him from the nursing home. Nurse Cara had explained that both his still-healing pelvis and the painkillers Dean was on for it made driving 'contraindicated' – which Sam knew was medical shorthand for '_don't do this, dumbass'_ – and added with a pointed look that she knew Sam, of all people, would make sure 'numb-nuts' followed the doctor's orders. He wasn't going to fail after less than an hour, no matter how many times Dean tried to guilt trip him into it.

He felt guilty enough already.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean fish around in his pocket and pull a small bottle out. "You mean this?"

"As long as you're taking them, you can't—"

Dean casually flipped the bottle out of the window. "Problem solved."

Sam nearly drove off the road. "_Dean_!"

"Now you have to let me drive." Dean sounded triumphant. "C'mon, Sammy, pull over. No one's on the road."

Sam debated pulling over, if only to throttle Dean. "I can't _believe_ you just did that," he growled. "Do you ever _think_, Dean? What if someone finds it? What if—"

Dean waved a hand in the air. "Don't get your panties in a wad, princess. The pills are in the first aid kit."

Sam blinked at the endless stretch of road in front of them. Dean was right; no one else was on the road, even on the other side of the highway. It gave him a strange feeling, both isolating and freeing. Everything was almost right, but not quite, and that was the part that kept sticking in Sam's gut. "The bottle was empty? Then why—"

"Two reasons," Dean said, the smirk back in his voice. "First, because you're a pain in my ass and it was worth it just for the look on your face. Second, I'm not carrying around anything with the name Dean friggin' _Applebaum_ on it anymore." He cuffed the back of Sam's head, but lightly, not enough to really affect him, which didn't surprise Sam as he was still driving Dean's precious baby, after all. "What the hell were you thinking? _Applebaum_, Christ."

"It's not like you get to give the name up yet," Sam muttered, loud enough for Dean to hear. He tried to stop there but couldn't resist adding, "And shut up about it. I didn't have a lot of time."

To his surprise Dean didn't rise to the bait, but then again they'd had variations on this argument nearly every day for the entire last two weeks of Dean's 'incarceration', as he had taken to calling it. Instead Dean said, "Look. Almost there."

Sam looked. He could see a sign in front of them, long and oblong, white with red letters and a splash of blue. "Welcome to Ohio," he said to Dean as they drove over the state line. The sound of the road underneath the wheels instantly quieted, like someone had thrown a switch. Dean shifted again, laughed a little.

"Michigan's roads really are shit," he observed.

Sam didn't argue with him. It was true, after all; you could see Michigan's potholes from _space_. Instead he asked, again, "Now that we're in Ohio, what exit do I take for Nettleton?"

"First one after 475 splits off," Dean said, letting his head drop back against the headrest and, as Sam saw when he turned his head again to check, closing his eyes. He still didn't seem like he was in pain, though Sam couldn't stop himself from listening for it in Dean's voice anyway. "Then we're on that road for about twenty minutes, Jen said. We find Main Street, turn right, and then Walnut, turn right. Library's on the left."

"You want to go straight to the library?" Sam asked, trying not to let his grip on the wheel tighten. "Shouldn't we find a motel first? Rest a little? Or we could get lunch first. It'll be about noon when we get there."

Dean cracked one eye open to glare at him, and Sam hurriedly looked back at the road. He could see other cars now, in the distance, and he focused on them and not on his brother shifting around in the seat again.

First exit after 475, right on Main, right on Walnut, he repeated to himself, making sure he could remember the way, which was a good thing because Dean chose then to reach out and twiddle the knob on the volume until Sam had no hope of hearing him over the strains of Metallica singing _Master of Puppets _for the twelfth time.

**o**

Fortunately, it wasn't long before Sam saw the exit and guided the car off the interstate and onto one of Ohio's many roads without a proper name, just a route and a number or letter or, in some cases, both. It was one of the bigger roads though, with stores and restaurants lining both sides, which made sense because if they had gone the other way, they would have ended up in Toledo after just a few minutes.

Almost involuntarily his eyes went to the rearview mirror, but he didn't see anything in it, just the road stretching behind them, bisected by the interstate bridge. Next to him, Dean stirred, and Sam managed to keep his eyes firmly on the road in front of him even though it almost _hurt_ not to look over at his brother, who had been broken too many times too recently.

Dean must have noticed his sacrifice and decided to reward him for it, because he turned off the music. Off, and not just down, and Sam felt his shoulders relax just a little in the sudden silence. Ahead of them, the light flipped from yellow to red, and he braked and looked over at Dean. Dean couldn't get irritated with him for looking at him while stopped, he figured, but he made sure to make his expression questioning as if he were asking '_Why did you turn the music off_?' and not just satisfying his, he admitted, somewhat neurotic need to make sure Dean was still all right.

"I should go over what we know with you before we get there," Dean said, holding up a few folded sheets of newspaper, "as you were too busy fussing over my crutches and counting my pills to listen to Jen." Sam started to say something to that, but Dean cut him off. "Save it. We're doing this, Sam. We both owe Jen."

"I wasn't going to say we shouldn't," Sam muttered. He had already lost this particular argument, mostly because Dean was right. They _did_ owe Jen. Jen had helped keep Dean alive when the creature killing people at the nursing home where she worked had kidnapped both her and Dean. When she had asked them to look into the deaths at Nettleton Public Library, they couldn't refuse.

Sam just wished she hadn't asked so _soon_.

"Whatever, man." Dean shook the newspaper sheets at him. "We should read the newspaper articles Jen gave me, figure out who to talk to, all that shit."

"Aren't we talking to Jen's girlfriend first?"

"Yeah, we're _definitely_ talking to Riana first." A leer split Dean's face, and Sam rolled his eyes, even if something in him eased a little at that expression. It was so _Dean._

"You do remember that she's Jen's _girlfriend_, right?"

The light turned green, and Sam turned back to driving. He had to pay some attention to it; traffic cops in Ohio were always looking for any excuse, and they definitely didn't need to get pulled over right now. But he kept part of his attention on his brother.

Dean snorted. "I spent some quality time tied to Jen in a basement talking about her girlfriend. 'Course I remember, Sammy."

"So, not only is she already taken," Sam pointed out, "she wouldn't be interested in you anyway."

"Doesn't matter," Dean said, dismissive. "All I can do right now is look anyway, and if Jen's not exaggerating, then Riana's a sight worth seeing." He poked Sam in the ribs. "Hey, you've met her. _Does_ she look like a Busty Asian Beauties model?"

"I thought we were going to talk about the case, not a lesbian librarian's breasts."

"You're such a prude, dude."

"The _case_, Dean. Or I'm going to change my mind about us working it."

"Don't you fucking dare," Dean growled, but Sam heard him flip through the papers, and then he said, in a different tone, "Two deaths so far. First was a guy named Jack Hazer, Jr., about two weeks ago. You want me to read the whole article or just the important parts?"

"Read the whole thing," Sam said.

Dean did, voice level, even when they hit inevitable bumps in the road and Sam had to fight the urge to check on him again. The article said that Jack had been on one of the library's internet computers when he had suddenly collapsed, victim of a sudden rupture in his throat, and had been rushed to the nearest ER in Toledo. "Follow-up article says he drowned in the blood on the way and was pronounced dead on arrival," Dean read. "Damn." Another shuffle, and Dean said, "Hey, his obituary's here. Awesome, it says where his mom and fiancée live."

"No father?"

"Died twenty years ago," Dean said. "Wonder if that's a connection."

"Maybe. What about the other victim?"

Dean shifted the papers again. "Georgia Harper. Far as I can tell, nothing in common with Jack Junior, here, other than manner of death, of course. She's a woman, over twenty years older, both parents are still alive, and she wasn't on one of the computers."

"Does it say where she was?"

"No, just in the library," Dean said thoughtfully. "But she died just the same, it sounds like. Sudden collapse, throat rupture, the works." He read Sam the article in its entirety. "No obituary, though," Dean added when he was done. "But the paper's a local one, only comes out once a week. She'll probably be in this week's edition."

"What else is there? Just the articles about the two deaths and the obituary?"

"That's it," Dean confirmed. "But Jen told me Riana said she noticed flickering lights about the same time Jack Junior collapsed. Sounds a lot like a spirit to me. We'll need to look into deaths at the library, see if we can find anyone who drowned in their own blood."

"So Riana witnessed one of them," Sam mused. "That's helpful. Anything else?"

"From Jen? Just that she wants us to figure it out fast because she's worried that Riana might get hurt, and that Riana will tell us everything she knows when we get there. Oh, and Jen's gonna come down later so she and Riana can take us out to dinner, as thanks for agreeing to do this." Dean poked Sam again. "Too bad they're together, huh? Just our luck the two hot chicks begging for our help are lesbians."

Sam rolled his eyes.

**o**

Nettleton Public Library was a large two-story brick building nestled between two parks and flanked by several trees and carefully tended flower beds. One of them, Sam noticed as he pulled into the parking lot, had purple and white flowers arranged so that the purple ones spelled out 'NPL' against a background of white. It looked like a lot of the small-town libraries Sam had seen, if larger than the ones usually found in such a small town, and nicer. It didn't look haunted.

The parking lot was almost full, but Sam managed to snag a space right by the path to the front door. He was out of the car and around to Dean's side before his brother had even managed to undo his seat belt. Sam opened the back and retrieved Dean's crutches, then opened Dean's door. "Here," he said, leaning the crutches against the car. He held out his hands.

Dean smacked Sam's hands away. "Dude, I can get myself out," he snapped, grabbing one of the crutches and hoisting himself up. Sam tried not to, but he couldn't help stepping forward and making sure that he was ready to help. Just in case, he told himself. He wasn't hovering. He was just – there.

He was rewarded with a whack on the shin. "Stop _hovering_," Dean growled, and hit him with one of his crutches again. Then he swung himself around and made for the front doors. Sam practically had to sprint to keep up.

The interior of the library was as cheerful as the outside, if somewhat cluttered. Several racks of magazines and a table full of newspapers surrounded a fireplace and some reading chairs just to the left of the doorway. Three computers were also in that area, by the windows, and Sam found himself studying them, wondering if the first victim had been on one of them when it had happened.

To their right was a large circulation desk, staffed by a pretty girl probably around eighteen, with thick hair cascading in cornrows around her face and coffee-colored skin. Just beyond the circulation desk Sam could see another computer area, with three more desktop computers and chairs on one side of a large table. The other side boasted three slim monitors with keyboards and a mouse attached, but no towers or chairs. OPACs, Sam thought. People could access the library's catalog from those, but nothing else. The other three computers – six if you counted the ones by the windows – were probably for internet access and word processing. Jack Hazer had been on one of them when he had died. Or been attacked, Sam amended.

The rest of the room was divided into three sections. Behind the magazine racks and to the left was the children's section, obvious by the copious amount of picture books and the cheerful posters lining the walls, not to mention the young woman sitting in a rocking chair and reading to three children. Straight back was a small teen section with several book racks, huge red beanbag chairs occupied by a pair of teenage girls giggling over a book together, and a glittering sign spelling out 'Teens'. To the right was, by process of elimination, the adult section, with bookshelves lining the walls and also free standing in ten rows in the middle. Several people were quietly browsing, but it wasn't crowded. Sam looked, but didn't see Jen's girlfriend anywhere.

"Hello," the girl at the desk said, and Sam looked back at her. Her nametag read _Shaye_. "Can I help you?"

"You certainly can," Dean purred. Sam watched as he moved himself closer to the desk without any seeming effort. PT paid off, Sam thought, and followed him. The girl raised her eyebrows as Dean leaned over the counter a little and said, "You see, Shaye – may I call you Shaye?"

Her lips quirked a little as she replied, "Hey, you wear a nametag, you can't get mad if you get called by your name."

Dean chuckled. "In that case, Shaye, we're here to see Riana. Can you point us in the right direction?"

Shaye's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed. "_Finally_." She grabbed a phone from somewhere under the desk and hit a button. "Riana, they're here," she said into the receiver, then hung it up again. "It figures you'd walk in now," she informed them, leaning her elbows on the counter and dropping her voice a little. "Riana's been hanging around here checking for you like every five seconds, but she had to go to the back to set up for the babysitting clinic we're having Saturday." She waved a hand towards the back of the building. Sam noticed an exit sign over a hallway near the end of the adult section that, presumably, led to the 'back' Shaye had mentioned. "She said you're private detectives?"

"He is," Dean said before Sam could respond. "I help out when he needs me. But I'm a writer first. I'm always interested in hearing people's stories. Usually over coffee." He grinned at Shaye, who gave him a little half-smile in response. Sam tried valiantly not to roll his eyes.

"_Sam_!"

Sam turned towards the voice, but had barely made it halfway around before Riana appeared and threw her arms around him. "Hi!" Riana cried, pressing her face into his shoulder and squeezing so tightly Sam gasped. She squeezed him again and then released him, stepping back to grin up at him. "I'm so glad you're here!"

"Nice to see you again too, Riana," Sam panted. Dean coughed, and Sam hastily said, "Riana, this is Dean Applebaum. Dean, this is Riana Inoue."

Dean shot a glare at him, but then his expression melted into appreciation as he looked Riana up and down. She was dressed conservatively – black slacks, high-necked red sweater, hair clipped back into a long black ponytail – but the look Dean was giving her suggested otherwise. "Hello there," he smarmed, letting go of the crutch with his right hand and shifting his weight until he could hold it out to her. "You must be Riana. Jen's told me all," his eyes flickered down to her, admittedly quite generous, breasts, "about you."

To Sam's surprise Riana laughed and gently cuffed him on the shoulder. "She's told me all about you, too," she said, eyes sparkling mischievously. "It's so great to finally meet you! I tried a couple times but you were always in physical therapy when I stopped by." She grinned at him for a second, then leaned forward a little. "Is it all right if I glomp you too? You won't fall over or anything?"

Dean blinked. "'Glomp'?"

"It's what she did to me," Sam informed him.

Dean's eyes lit up. "Oh, bring it on."'

"Careful!" Sam said as Riana – carefully – threaded her arms around Dean and squeezed him too. Dean winked at him over her shoulder – she was pretty tall, probably around 5'9" – and Sam sighed. Behind the desk, Shaye snorted and shook her head.

"You'd never guess she's a lesbian sometimes," Shaye murmured so only Sam could hear. He coughed, and Shaye gave him a wicked smile.

"I'm just so glad you two could come," Riana said, stepping back and clasping her hands together under her chin. "Come on, let's go to my office. The elevator's right over here."

"I'll hold your calls, shall I?" Shaye said dryly.

Sam and Dean followed Riana around the desk and into a hallway. Space abruptly became tight, and Dean had to move slowly or risk slamming into one of the walls with his crutches. Sam tensed again, ready. When one of the crutches caught on a wrinkle in the carpet and Dean stumbled, Sam reached out and steadied him. He received another rap on the shin for his troubles.

The elevator doors opened, and they followed Riana in, Sam hanging back after Dean shot him a poisonous look. "My office is upstairs," Riana explained, somewhat unnecessarily given that they were in an upwardly mobile elevator. "We can talk privately up there. The second floor doesn't have much on it, just three offices and back issues of magazines and supply closets and stuff like that, so no one will be up there right now except us. Both Olivia and Maeve just left for lunch. The director and the assistant director," she added, correctly anticipating Sam's next question.

The elevator door dinged and slid open. Riana stepped out, followed by Dean. "Are you all right on those?" Riana asked, looking over her shoulder at him. "Some of the hallways are kind of narrow."

"Nah, I'm fine, but thanks," Dean said warmly. Sam made a face at the back of his head.

Riana led them down the hall and through a door that opened up into a large hallway – Dean wouldn't have any trouble here, Sam noted, and relaxed a little. To one side were the magazine racks Riana had mentioned. The other side had a railing that went up about waist high – on Sam anyway – but beyond that was open space. Sam stepped closer and looked down. "You can see the whole library from up here," he said, surprised.

"Not the whole thing," Riana said, resting her hands on the railing and looking down too. "Just the computers and the children's and the teens' section." She pointed to the two girls still in the beanbag chairs. "That's my section," she said, a note of pride in her voice.

"So you're the children's librarian?" Dean asked, carefully leaning onto the railing and looking over. For a second Sam thought he saw his brother wince, but when he started towards him Dean shot him a warning look. Sam halted and looked back down. Below them he could see the top of Shaye's head as she helped the woman from the rocking chair and her three children check out books. They were the only people left in the library, far as he could tell, other than the two girls in the teen section.

"No, I'm the teen librarian," Riana said. Dean said something else, but Sam wasn't listening anymore.

Someone was in the children's section.

Sam squinted, peering down. Below him, he could see an older woman with gray hair twisted into a loose bun. She was standing next to one of the nonfiction shelves, hands down by her sides, but she wasn't browsing the books. Her chin was tilted up, away from the shelves. She was looking up at the railing, Sam realized.

She was looking straight at Sam.

As he watched, one of her hands lifted. Slowly, she crooked a finger at him, once, twice. He blinked, and for a moment she seemed to flicker. She beckoned again. Sam's hands tightened on the railing as her outline flickered again. Her hand suddenly lowered, and he saw her lined face crease into a strange smile.

Then she vanished.

"Broken CDs," Riana was saying, and Sam took a deep breath and looked over at her and Dean. Dean had somehow contrived to lay a hand on her shoulder, which meant he wasn't entirely supported by his crutches on one side, and she was pointing at the sign in the teen area. "We used glue and—"

"Dean," Sam said. Dean looked over his shoulder at him and nearly fell, but Riana caught him around the waist. He gave her an appreciative smile, and she grinned back. Sam felt a flare of irritation at that but tamped it down furiously. Now was not the time to argue with Dean about his hypocritical stance on accepting help from people. Instead he asked, gesturing with his chin at the children's section, "Did you see her?"

"See who?" Dean asked.

Sam looked down at the children's section again. No one was there.

"Our first lead," he said.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**Nettleton Public Library****  
12:15 pm**

"It was almost closing on Tuesday night," Riana said, leaning forward until her elbows rested on her desk. "I don't usually work on Tuesdays, but Carole – she's the head of adult services – and I had switched shifts, so I was here when it happened."

Sam tried not to look impatient. Riana had looked confused when he had described the woman he had seen in the children's area to her, finally saying apologetically that she had only worked there a couple of years and that he should probably talk to the library director, who should be back in about an hour. In the meantime, Riana would tell them what she knew about Jack Hazer, Jr.'s collapse.

So now they were in her office, a small but bright room with two uncomfortable plastic chairs on one side of an L-shaped desk, and a squeaky computer chair on the other. Dean's crutches were leaning precariously against the side of the desk. Riana sat perched in the computer chair, facing them with a solemn expression. Sam and Dean were crammed into the plastic chairs.

"What time was it, exactly?" Dean shifted in his chair. Sam resolutely avoided looking at him, keeping his eyes firmly on Riana's troubled face. They needed to know this as much as they needed to know more about the vanishing woman, and since Riana knew what to look for – much more than most of their witnesses – her insight was invaluable. But he still wished that they didn't have to wait for the director to return. The longer they sat in Riana's office, the longer Dean had to suffer the chair.

"I'm not sure, but probably around 8:45 at night," Riana said. "We close at nine, and I had last looked at the clock at 8:40, and it wasn't long after that. I was shelving magazines over by him, though I'd just gone to the desk and was starting to come back when it happened." She looked down at her clasped hands. "One minute he was fine, just sitting at the computer, and then his chair just – fell."

"Did it look like something attacked him?" Dean asked.

She nodded slowly. "The way the chair fell wasn't – right. Jody told the EMTs that the man had gone into a sort of fit and knocked his chair over. But I saw it too, and it looked to me like something threw both him and the chair. I mean, he didn't just fall backwards; he was a good six feet away from the computer desk when he started choking. And he was fighting something too – he kept reaching up, like he was trying to shove something off of him but couldn't."

Sam leaned forward. "Did he say anything, make any sort of noise?"

She shook her head. "Nothing coherent. He didn't really make any sounds other than just choking noises, you know? At first we couldn't even tell he was bleeding, but then blood just started spurting from his mouth, and his choking got _wet_—" She broke off, shuddering.

Dean shifted carefully, leaned forward until he could put his hand over hers. "Hey," he said, almost gently. "We'll figure this out."

She looked up and gave him a shaky smile. Dean squeezed her hands and then cautiously leaned back again. Sam watched him, then turned his attention back to Riana before Dean could catch him. "Did you notice anything else?" he asked her.

Riana started to shake her head, then paused. "The computer," she said. "It was blank. Not off, but the screen was black. I had to force it to shut off."

Dean glanced at him, and Sam raised his eyebrows a little. The computer might be important, but as far as they knew, only one of the victims had been near one at the time. Dean caught the look Sam gave him and nodded a little.

Dean turned back to Riana. "Do you know anything about what happened with the second victim?"

Riana shook her head again, apologetic. "No, I wasn't working. I don't usually work Tuesdays. But I do know it happened right in front of the desk, by the OPACs."

Sam looked up sharply. "The OPACs?" he repeated. "Was Georgia Harper on one of them?"

She blinked. "I don't know. Is that important?"

"It might be," Sam said. "And it was a Tuesday too, Dean."

"Yeah, I got that. What the hell's an OPAC?" Dean demanded.

"Online Public Access Catalog," Riana answered before Sam could. When Dean gave her a dubious look, she clarified, "They're computers patrons can use to access our catalog, but they don't do the internet. We have three out on the main floor. I can point them out later if you want."

"So Georgia Harper was standing near one of them," Dean said slowly.

"But was she actually on one?" Sam asked.

"Maybe they just need to be near it, not actually using it," Dean theorized.

Riana's eyebrows shot up as a look of comprehension dawned over her face. "You think computers are involved," she pronounced, looking back and forth between them. "You think it's getting to its victims through computers."

Sam shrugged and smiled at her. She was pretty sharp, but then one didn't get to be a librarian by being unable to process information. "It's definitely possible," he said out loud. "Do you know who was here the night Georgia Harper died? Who maybe saw what happened?"

"I know Jody saw them both," Riana said thoughtfully. "It was just Jody and me last Tuesday night. I'd need to check the schedule to see who was here when Georgia Harper died, but definitely Carole and maybe Charlie. He's our cataloguer. Marisa was probably here too. Children's librarian," she added.

"Jody, huh?" Dean asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Riana nodded. "Jody works the circ desk."

"Will she be in later? Any chance we could talk to her today?"

Riana shook her head. "He's off today and tomorrow," she replied. "Olivia told him to take a mental health holiday. But his full name is Jody Herr. He's in the book." She winked at them, and out of the corner of his eye Sam saw Dean deflate a little.

"We'll try him at home tomorrow," he said, and Dean nodded, still looking a little disappointed. Sam pried himself out of the chair and stretched up. Riana got up too, and after a minute Dean did as well, using the edge of her desk to pull himself to his feet before grabbing his crutches. A flash of pain crossed his face, but it was gone by the time Sam had taken a step towards him.

Riana reached out and carefully wrapped her arms around Dean again. "Thank you both so much," she sighed, squeezing him and then letting go. Dean swung himself out of the way so she could hug Sam, too. Dean flashed him a leer over Riana's shoulder. Sam ignored him in favor of pulling back to ask Riana where they could get some lunch before talking to the director.

"There's a little diner just a block away," she said. "Let's go there. I'll check the schedule for last Tuesday when we get back."

**o**

When they got back – Dean still loudly singing the praises of the diner's barbecue wings – Riana led them into a back workroom just behind the front desk. Shaye, who was still sitting at the circulation desk, gave them a little small smile and winked. Dean grinned back at her before focusing his attention on getting himself and his crutches through the swinging door Riana was holding open. His face was flushed and his breathing was erratic, which Sam chalked up to their block-long trek back.

He almost suggested Dean take a seat at one of the staff computers, but thought better of it. Dean would probably scoff, hit him again, or both. He'd just make Dean lie down for a long time later, once they had a motel room. He was far more likely to win that argument, anyway. Especially if he hid Dean's crutches.

"Schedule's right over here," Riana said, pointing to a bulletin board. "I'll check last Tuesday and then call up to see if Olivia's back. You still want to talk to her, right?"

Sam thought of the woman he'd seen in the children's area. Her crooked finger flashed into his mind, and he nodded. "Yes, definitely."

The woman was definitely a spirit, whoever she was, he thought, watching as Riana picked up a phone and hit a button before speaking quietly into the receiver. But he wasn't sure that she was the same one who killed Jack Hazer and Georgia Harper. For one thing, both had died on Tuesday, and today was Friday. For another, a violent spirit like that one didn't really fit the woman he had seen. She had been strange, yes, and even creepy, the way she had smiled at him and beckoned, but she hadn't looked angry. He hadn't felt like she had meant him harm, just that she had wanted his attention.

"You sure this lady you saw is our spirit?" Dean whispered to him, echoing his thoughts.

"No," he whispered back. "But she's definitely a spirit of some kind, so we should look into her."

"Jody, Marisa, Charlie, and Carole worked last Tuesday evening," Riana announced then, turning back around to face them. She grimaced. "Charlie and Marisa both don't work Fridays, so they aren't here. Carole is, but according to the schedule she was doing a program then so she couldn't have seen anything. I doubt Charlie did either; he's always back here. But Marisa might have seen something. She works tomorrow all day, so you could come back and talk to her, maybe before you go see Jody. We open at ten."

Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged. "Marisa what?" he asked.

"Rodriguez, for now," Riana replied, somewhat enigmatically. "Should I call Olivia now, see if you can go up and talk to her?"

Sam nodded, and Riana turned back towards the phone. Next to him, Dean let out a breath. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, shifting around until the tops of his crutches were pressing in slightly different places under his arms. "Goddamn crutches. When the fuck do I get to stop using these again?"

"When it stops hurting," Sam muttered.

Behind them, Riana slammed the phone back in its cradle and turned around to announce, "Olivia's free right now, if you want to go to talk to her."

"Awesome, let's go," Dean said.

"Dean," Sam said tentatively, visions of that narrow hallway to the elevator looming in his mind, "maybe you should stay down here."

Dean rounded on him. "Goddamn it, Sam," he snapped. "I'm fine, all right? I'm not staying down here just because you can't get it through your enormous head that—"

"It's not like I want you to just sit on your ass," Sam argued back, though he kind of did want that. Dean could still help with the case while sitting on his ass, after all. "You could go over things with Riana again, or maybe see if Shaye knows anything, or—"

"Did someone say my name?"

Sam and Dean both looked over to see Shaye standing in the door separating the back room from the front desk. Dean's defensiveness melted away, and he grinned at her. "Just wondering what stories you know," he said warmly. Shaye shook her head but smiled back.

Riana coughed into her hand. "Olivia's waiting," she said pointedly.

"I'll go," Sam said. "I'm the one who saw the – her – anyway."

Dean glared at Sam. "I'll go too. I'm not staying down here."

"Hey," Shaye said, dark eyes fixed on Dean, "you could keep me company instead. I've got stories, believe me." She winked.

"I'll stay down here," Dean said.

**o**

"It's nice to finally meet you, Sam," Olivia Walter said. The library director was an attractive woman in her fifties, with ash blonde hair cut in an pageboy style and smile lines creasing the corners of her mouth. She glanced at the door behind him and raised her eyebrows. "I was under the impression that there were two of you coming?"

Sam nodded. "My – partner," he said, stumbling over the word as he belatedly remembered their currently differing last names. "He's downstairs talking to a few of the other employees. He's been injured, so it's hard for him to get up to the second floor." He shrugged and tried not to twist around to look out the windows next to him. They overlooked the teen section of the library, but if he craned his neck enough he could make out the front desk, where he had last seen Dean, propped up against book return and chatting with Shaye. Dean was fine, Sam told himself, and made himself focus on Olivia's face.

Olivia nodded thoughtfully. "I wasn't too sure about this, but Riana was _so_ enthusiastic, and well, once Riana gets an idea in her head, it's hard to stop her. Besides, as long as you two don't violate any of our policies, it can't hurt. I assume Riana has briefed you on that?"

She hadn't, but Sam nodded anyway. He knew a little bit about libraries, and he could guess what the director meant. Besides, they could always ask Riana for clarification later.

Olivia nodded, looking satisfied, and Sam felt a slight twinge of guilt at lying to a librarian, especially a director. But it would pass, he told himself. It always did eventually.

The director sat down at a table in the corner of her office and indicated a comfortable looking chair next to her. "Please, sit down."

Sam sank into it. "Thank you for talking to me," he said, laying on the sincerity. "I really just need some background information about the library, the building and the history and any legends or stories about the place you know. Riana said you were the one to talk to. I know you're busy, so it means a lot to me that you're taking time out."

Olivia's face broke into a smile. "You're sweet," she said, almost playfully. Sam smiled back, and Dean not being here was definitely a good thing, considering that it meant he wouldn't have to listen to any cougar jokes later. Thank God. "I've been working here for almost sixteen years," Olivia told him. "Ask away."

Sam considered. "Could you tell me about the library building? How long it's been here, any history, that sort of thing."

"This building was started in 1962 and completed in 1963," Olivia recited. "Before that the library was located in this tiny little hole of a space on Main Street. This land was donated by the village for a new building; it used to be part of the park next door. That was before my time, though, obviously."

"Does anything else come to mind?" Sam asked, leaning forward. It was to facilitate intimacy, he told himself. It wasn't so he could look over her shoulder through the window and try to spot Dean. Who, incidentally, was no longer parked at the front desk.

"No, not really." Olivia slowly shook her head, and Sam looked back at her in time to see a shadow cross her face. "It's really too bad you couldn't have talked to our former director. She knew everything there was to know about this place."

Sam sat up straight. "Is there anyway we could get in touch with her?"

Olivia leaned back her in chair and pressed a hand to her temple. "I'm afraid that isn't possible. She passed away a little over a month ago."

"I'm sorry," Sam murmured, but already his mind was working. Another death, he thought, that occurred right before these two. It could be a coincidence, of course, but Sam had been trained not to believe in those. "What was her name?" he asked gently. He wanted to ask how she had died as well, if it had been in the library, and specifically if she had had gray hair she kept in a bun. But he knew from experience that he had to take it slow, tease the information out, or else the subject could clam up.

"Karen Langley," Olivia replied, bowing her head. "She was a remarkable woman." She reached out, picked up a picture frame, and held it out towards Sam. "That's Karen, next to me."

The picture was a staff photo; Sam identified Riana first, standing in the back row and grinning widely, with one arm around a shorter-haired Shaye and the other around a gangly boy of about seventeen. Perhaps that was Jody, Sam thought, letting his eyes rove over the rest of the faces, about ten in all, most unfamiliar. He finally spotted Olivia in the back and off to the side, standing with her arm around a laughing woman of about sixty, with short curly white-blonde hair. Sam's heart sank.

"Is this Karen?" he asked, tapping the blonde woman's face.

"Yes," Olivia replied, expression wistful. She took the picture back and carefully set it up on the bookshelf next to her again.

Sam nodded, disappointment thrumming through him. Of course it wasn't that easy. This case was going to be a bitch to solve, he could tell already.

"This next question might seem a little odd," he said, "but can you tell me if there are any stories about the library that are a little – strange? Stories about a ghost, perhaps?"

Olivia sighed. "You certainly found out about our silly little ghost story rather quickly."

"It's what my partner writes about, ma'am," Sam replied with a straight face.

"Ghost stories," Olivia sighed. "You have no idea how many paranormal books I have to buy. People always want them. It's all hogwash, you know, but I'm not surprised this place has a story of its own." She tapped her fingers against her lips and thought. "It started years ago," she said finally. "Stories about an old woman appearing to people in the library, always when they were alone, or at least when no one else was looking."

"What does the woman look like?"

"An older woman, usually," Olivia replied. "Gray hair in a bun, old-fashioned dress, typical stuff. She's said to beckon to the person who sees her. She leads them somewhere and then smiles and vanishes." She shook her head. "I've been here for years and I've never even seen a flicker of a spectral woman roaming the stacks. It's merely a story the kids tell each other to freak themselves out. It's just a pity that so many adults buy into it too. Nettleton Library's even featured in one of those books about local ghost legends. You know, the sort your partner writes." Her smile was warm, though, and Sam could tell that she wasn't trying to insult them or even belittle them. She just honestly thought – like so many people did – that there was nothing out there beyond what she had experienced.

"Do the stories say why she's still here?" he asked, leaning forward again. "Like, anything about a murder or a violent death at the library years ago?"

Olivia shook her head slowly. "As far as I know, the two deaths we just had are the only ones the library has seen."

Sam made a mental note to ask Riana if the library had microfilm archives of the local paper, and if so to go through them from 1963 to sixteen years ago. The director was a nice woman, obviously intelligent, but she didn't believe in spirits and so she might have dismissed something relevant because of it. "Any other stories about the ghost?" he asked aloud.

Olivia frowned, thinking. Sam took the opportunity to check the front desk again. Still no Dean. "She's supposed to be a librarian, I think, but what else would she be?" Olivia said finally. "I doubt there's any truth to that."

Sam got to his feet and held out his hand. "Thank you again for your time," he said.

Olivia rose too and shook his hand firmly. "If you think of something else, feel free to ask," she said, squeezing his hand with both of hers and then releasing it. "It's not often I get to deal with such polite patrons. Or such handsome ones." She winked.

Sam flushed. Definitely good Dean wasn't here. "Thank you, I will," he mumbled, and as gracefully as he could, ran out of her office.

**o**

Sam didn't bother taking the elevator back down. Instead he went down the stairs back to the main level, taking them two at a time and nearly tripping during the turn halfway down.

Shaye looked up in surprise when he jumped down the last three steps and landed next to the front desk. "Unless there's a fire up there," she greeted him with a quirk of her lips, "no running. Or I kick your ass out."

"Do you know where Dean went?" he panted in response.

She raised an eyebrow. "Worried?" she smirked. "He's in the workroom. With Julian." She pointed through the door behind her.

Sam didn't pause to ask who Julian was. He just muttered a hasty, "Thanks," and banged his way through the swinging door and into the workroom. He didn't see Dean at first, but then he spotted him near the back of the room, sitting at a table and talking with a mousy woman of about thirty with messy brown hair and pale skin, except for her cheeks, which were stained red. Sam let out a breath. Dean was okay. Dean was more than okay, given the smile he was directing at his companion. Dean was sitting down and not hurt any more than he already was and okay, it was possible that running down here so fast hadn't been strictly necessary.

Maybe Dean had a point about the hovering.

Dean looked up and caught sight of him, and his expression shifted to concern. "Sammy?" he said, and he started to fumble with his crutches. "You okay?"

Sam willed his heart rate to go back to normal. "I'm fine," he said hastily.

Dean looked at him, then sighed and shook his head. '_Stop hovering_,' he mouthed. Sam refrained from making a face and instead walked – slowly – over to the table.

The woman looked up at his approach. "Oh, is this your boyfriend?" she asked Dean. "Riana told me about him too." She blushed.

"That's Sam," Dean non-answered. "Sam, this is Julian Roux, the library's tech expert. Julian was just telling me about the computers here at the library."

Sam pulled up a chair and sat down. Julian flushed even redder and said to the table, "I was telling Dean about the software we have on the public access computers. He wanted to know if it was possible to pull up records of what people did on the computers from two weeks ago."

"Is it?" Sam asked.

She shook her head. "No. The software I installed basically freezes computers in the state they're in when it's activated, so anything a patron does is wiped out the moment the computer is restarted. You can't even save files to those without losing them if the computer gets turned off. It's on there for two reasons. One, it cuts down a lot on the number of viruses and other problems. Two, it protects patron privacy." She finally looked up and met Sam's eyes. "Even if I could pull up the information, I wouldn't."

This might be what Olivia meant by not violating any policies, Sam thought. Damn it. But he nodded thoughtfully. "I can understand that," he said gently, giving Julian his best sincere smile. She smiled back, tentatively, and then looked back down at the table.

"It was worth asking," Dean shrugged. "Thanks, Julian."

"Thank you," Sam echoed.

"You're welcome," Julian replied, looking up and flashing them a broad grin. To Sam's surprise, it lit her whole face up, and suddenly he understood why Dean had been treating her to the Dean Winchester special. "It's okay you asked; I get this all the time from people who want to know why the resume they saved is gone." She looked down at her watch, then rose to her feet. "I'm sorry, I should get back to work. It was great meeting both of you." She held out her hand to Dean.

He grinned up at her and grasped her proffered hand with both of his. "A pleasure meeting you too, Julian," he purred.

She flushed and turned to Sam. "It was nice meeting you too," she said, sounding flustered now as she extricated her hand from Dean's grip. "If you have any other questions, just find me."

"Actually," Sam said, glancing at Dean, "I do have another question."

Julian waited.

Dean gave him a warning look. "Dude, it's barely two. If it's about finding a motel—"

"It's not," he snapped. "Just let me finish, dude."

Actually it was, but Dean didn't need to know that. Sam was _not hovering_, damn it, and he would prove it. There was something they could do here that would both further the case and keep Dean sitting down for a few hours.

Dean held up his hands in mock-submission.

Sam looked up at Julian and asked, "Do you have microfilm of the local paper?"

**o**

They spent the next three hours sitting in front of the library's ancient microfilm reader searching for any articles about strange deaths or disappearances at the library, starting with sixteen years ago – just prior to Olivia Walter's hiring – and going back from there. They found nothing relevant, though the library itself was mentioned in the paper enough to cause countless false positives. But it was always something about a library program, or new equipment announcements, or articles about library funding and local levies. Nothing that would produce a violent spirit bent on ripping people's throats out.

Dean, who was in charge of turning the crank to advance the film, was starting to look cross-eyed with boredom when Jen Edwards appeared behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"You never call," she snapped, but she was grinning. She was still wearing the jeans and flannel she had been in that morning, but her red hair was down around her shoulders, which Sam had never seen before. It looked good on her. "You never write. I'm starting to think you've forgotten about me."

"Jen!" Dean exclaimed. "Man, it feels like forever since I've seen you." He half got to his feet and started to extend his arms. Sam sucked in a breath, but Jen caught Dean around the waist and hugged him in such a way as to support him completely, despite the fact that she was more than a head shorter. Right, nurse's aide, Sam thought, letting the air out in a whoosh.

"We saw her less than six hours ago," he said, to cover up.

"And not even a postcard!" Jen stuck her tongue out. Dean laughed and grabbed for his crutches. Jen kept hold of him until he was situated, then let go. Sam noted that Dean didn't say a word to _her_ about hovering. "So, where's my girlfriend, anyway?"

"No idea," Sam said. "She showed up about an hour ago but she disappeared again. Upstairs in her office maybe?"

"Yeah, about Riana," Dean butted in. "You remember you told me she looked like June, from the last Busty Asian Beauties calendar?"

"She does," Jen said, putting her hands on her hips. "Trust me."

Dean shook his head. "She looks more like July, you know, Kira I think her name is, the one who likes warm baths and walks in the moonlight. Though I can't be sure unless I see her breasts, of course."

Jen rolled her eyes. "Man, and right in front of Sam too." She reached out and – carefully, Sam was pleased to note – smacked Dean on the arm. "Come on, I drove all the way down here to get breakfast. Though I suppose you day walkers are calling it dinner." She pulled a phone from her pocket and hit a few keys. "There, now Riana knows I'm here."

Sam got to his feet. "Is there any way we could meet you at the restaurant?" he asked, not looking at Dean. "I'd really like to go find a motel first, get settled in, maybe change clothes." Dean snorted, but Sam just kept his eyes on Jen.

"You're not staying in a motel," Jen said, looking surprised. "We wouldn't ask you to look into this without making sure you'd have somewhere to stay. Didn't Riana tell you?"

Sam blinked. "Tell us what?"

Riana bounced up then, grinning and waving her phone. "Got your message!" she sang. "I was already on my way down when it came. Jen, you made it okay!" She threw both arms around Jen and kissed her soundly. Jen made a 'mmmph!' noise but kissed back.

Dean leered and nudged Sam in the ribs. "Told you taking this case was worth it, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes.

When Riana finally let go of Jen, Sam asked her, "What's this about us not staying in a motel?"

Riana tilted her head to the side, looking confused. Then she smacked a hand to her forehead. "I completely forgot!" she exclaimed. She fished in her pocket and drew out a set of keys. "You're staying at my grandmother's house. My grandmother died a few years ago and I inherited the place, and it's only about ten miles out from here." She held out the keys to Sam. "It's free, and you'll have your privacy. I'll show you where it is after dinner."

Dean reached out and took the keys from her before Sam got a chance. "Hey, Riana, can I ask you a question?" At her nod, he continued, "If you have a house so close, why do you drive an hour down here every day?"

Riana laughed. "Because who wants to live in _Ohio_?"

"It's because she's a worrywart when it comes to me," Jen broke in. "We live about five minutes from my nursing home. She'd have a conniption every night if I was the one driving an hour to work. Getting kidnapped has so not helped her paranoia complex."

Riana sighed. Sam got the impression that this was a common point of contention between them. Jen put on a grim face, and Riana glared back. Then they both laughed, and the tension seemed to melt away. "Let's go to dinner," Riana said, reaching out and raising Jen's hand to her lips. Jen smiled, and Riana kissed her fingers before twining their hands together. "We can discuss your persecution complex then."

"We can also discuss other things, right?" Dean said, the grin on his face making it clear exactly what sort of things he wanted to discuss. The pointed look at Riana's chest didn't exactly hurt, either.

Jen and Riana exchanged amused glances. Then, together, they both chorused, "Yes, we do, and no, you can't watch."

**o**

Riana's grandmother's house was ranch-style, which made Sam breathe easier as it meant there weren't any stairs for Dean to potentially trip and rebreak his pelvis or possibly his neck on. There was a nice kitchen, which Riana had apparently stocked with essentials, meaning milk, juice, and cereal, a small living room and dining area, two bathrooms, both with tubs and showers, and three bedrooms, one with a king-sized bed, one with a queen, and one with two twins.

Dean immediately claimed the king-sized, so Sam was relegated to the queen, which was in a room with soft green walls and lacy white curtains. It was the most comfortable bed he'd lain on in a long time, which wasn't saying much considering he'd spent five weeks sleeping either in chairs by Dean's hospital bed, in a shitty motel while Dean was in his first room at the nursing home, or in a nursing home bed next to Dean's that was too short for him but was at least better than a chair. This bed was so far beyond that it was in a different league. The sheets were clean, if a bit musty, and the mattress felt like it was cradling him. The pillows were soft but firm, just like he liked them, and he was warm and comfortable and absolutely exhausted.

He still couldn't sleep.

It was almost one, according to the clock on the nightstand next to him, when he heard Dean get up. The master bedroom shared a wall with Sam's room, so he could just make it out when Dean's crutches started up a short rhythmic staccato, carrying Dean to the bathroom, Sam presumed. That theory was confirmed when he heard the toilet flush and water running a few minutes later. He closed his eyes again and tried willing himself to sleep.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, eyes pressed shut and hands balled up in the covers, when he realized that he had never heard Dean leave the bathroom. Maybe he had drifted off and missed it, he thought, but he opened his eyes and turned his head to check on the clock. Only five minutes had passed; he doubted he had drifted off just long enough to miss the sound of Dean's crutches, especially when the house was so quiet otherwise.

So Dean was still in the bathroom.

Sam was on his feet and halfway to the door before it occurred to him that if Dean was fine, he would absolutely kill Sam for barging in his room in the middle of the night. But if Dean was in trouble and Sam left him to lie on the bathroom floor all night, he would never forgive himself. He could handle Dean's wrath, as long as it meant Dean was all right.

So he opened his door and slipped into the master bedroom next door.

The door to the bathroom was across from the bedroom door and hanging partly open; a dim light shone through the gap and lit up the room enough for Sam to make out the bed, the covers rumpled but empty, and the dresser on the wall next to him, Dean's bag thrown next to it, clothes spilling out.

He could also make out one of Dean's crutches, lying on the floor halfway in and halfway out of the bathroom.

Sam was at the bathroom door in two strides. "Dean?" he whispered, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He could make out breathing now, low and so measured that Sam knew Dean was trying to breathe through pain. "You in here, man?"

"I'm here," Dean said.

Sam took a breath himself and pushed the door open. It swung open with a creak, revealing first the sink and the nightlight plugged in over it. But he didn't see Dean. So he stepped forward over the fallen crutch and into the bathroom.

Dean was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, holding the other crutch upright in front of him with both hands. His eyes were closed, and he was leaning forward so his forehead pressed against the hand rest. Even in the low light, Sam could see that his face was ashen. "Dean?" he whispered. He couldn't seem to make his voice any louder.

"Sammy," Dean rasped between breaths. "Painkillers are in the trunk, in the kit."

"Trunk, right."

Dean took another measured breath and winced. "Make sure you grab oxycontin, not oxycodone." His shoulders shook as he took another breath.

Sam turned to go and nearly tripped over the fallen crutch. He spun around again. "Do you want your other crutch?" he asked awkwardly.

"Wouldn't do me much good even if I had it." Dean finally opened his eyes and gave Sam a weak smile. "Go, Sammy."

Sam went.

He was halfway down the front walk before he remembered that he needed the car keys, because Dean would kill him if he tried breaking into his precious baby, and anyway he couldn't break in without some kind of tool. So he might as well go back for them. He turned around and banged back into the house to the kitchen, where Dean had left the keys. He scooped them up and ran back outside, not caring that it was cold out and he wasn't wearing shoes or more than a t-shirt and sweat pants. He barely felt it.

He popped the trunk, found the kit, and started holding bottles up to the street lamps, one after another, looking for oxycontin. Oxycontin and not oxycodone, which meant Dean wanted the fast-release version, which meant he wanted more immediate relief, which meant he was probably in too much to pain to move and Sam had to find the pills before it got even worse.

Five bottles later he found oxycontin. He tossed the kit back without bothering to stow it properly, slammed the trunk shut, and ran back for the bathroom, with only a quick pit stop in the kitchen to grab a glass.

Dean was in the same position when he got back. "Got them," Sam announced, kicking Dean's fallen crutch out of the doorway and stumbling inside. Dean opened his eyes and gave him another shaky smile. Sam held the bottle out.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean whispered. But he didn't move. He didn't even lift his head away from the crutch. He just kept breathing, in, out, in, out.

Sam set the bottle down on the edge of the sink, filled the glass with water, and left it next to the bottle. Then he knelt on the worn shag rug on the floor and shuffled forward until he was next to Dean. "Let go, man," he whispered, reaching out and gently pulling the crutch out of Dean's hands.

Dean swayed and almost fell forward, but Sam dropped the crutch and grabbed his shoulders. "Easy," he murmured, trying to steady his brother without hurting him more. Dean grunted with pain and let his head fall on Sam's shoulder. Sam carefully pushed the crutch out of the way with his knee and glanced up at the glass on the counter in dismay. Okay, change of plans, he thought. Get Dean to the bed first, then dose him up. "Can you stand if I help?" he asked.

"I can't fucking move, Sammy," Dean growled, voice thick with pain. "It hurts too goddamn much. Shoulda kept taking the pills, yeah, I know."

Yeah, you should have, Sam thought, but now wasn't the time to argue with him. "I'm going to help you up, okay?" he said instead. He changed his grip on his brother, got him in a support hold. Slowly, Dean's hands came up and grabbed hold of him too. Sam closed his eyes. "On three."

"One," Dean said.

"Two." Sam stood, hauling Dean up with him. Dean gritted his teeth and grimaced, but his grip on Sam stayed strong, and when they were both fully upright Sam shifted his grip again, changing to the one he'd seen Jen use on Dean, with Dean's arm over his shoulder and one of his hands gripping the back of Dean's pants, the other wrapped around Dean's torso.

"Come on," he said, and took a step. Dean stepped with him, face twisting in something close to agony, but there was determination too, and so Sam took another step. Slowly, carefully, they made their way out of the bathroom and over to the bed. Dean was panting now, his breathing erratic, but he didn't complain when Sam carefully pivoted him until they were facing each other with Dean's back to the bed. "Sit," Sam whispered, and face contorting with pain, Dean did. Once he was fully sitting on the bed, Sam knelt again and took hold of his brother's legs. "I'll help you get them up, okay?"

It was a mark of how much pain Dean was in that he didn't even bitch at Sam for that. He just nodded and together, they swung Dean's legs up and onto the bed.

"Son of a bitch," Dean panted when they were done. "Where's the fucking oxycontin?"

Sam dashed back into the bathroom and returned with two pills and the glass of water. Dean waved away his offer to help him lift his head to drink with a glare, instead swallowing them dry and then taking the glass from Sam. Once he'd drained it, he let his head fall back on the pillow. "Christ," he muttered.

Sam reached out and picked up the glass. "You want me to put this in the bathroom?" he asked.

"Whatever, dude," Dean sighed.

Sam went back and set it on the counter, then crept back over to the bed. He didn't want to leave, but Dean needed his rest, especially once the oxycontin had kicked in, and even though they'd shared beds before he didn't want to just presume that Dean wanted him to stay. "I'm, uh, I'm gonna go back to bed," he mumbled. "You okay now?"

"Get in," Dean said.

"But—" Sam hesitated.

"Get in the goddamn bed, Sammy," Dean snapped. "It's a fucking king-sized, you're not going to hurt me in my sleep, and I can't sleep without your obnoxious mouth-breathing anyway. Now get in so we can get some actual goddamn sleep before we have to go talk to people tomorrow."

Sam thought about protesting, but he was on the other side of the bed and easing himself under the blankets before he could think of a good reason. He wanted to reach out and touch Dean again, reassure himself that he was okay, but he didn't. "Don't steal all the covers," he said. "I remember what sharing with you is like. I always end up without any."

Dean actually laughed, which might have meant the oxycontin was kicking in, because he sounded almost normal. "That's because you're a pussy, Sam. Now shut up."

Sam closed his eyes. The bed in this room was just as soft as the bed in other room, and the pillows were the same, and really, nothing was different except that now he could hear Dean's breathing. But it only took him five minutes to fall asleep.


End file.
